The Woman in the Mirror
by Rasial
Summary: Brennan x Sweets. A rewrite of some events in The Doctor in the Photo. Brennan talks to Sweets about the strange similarities she keeps seeing between herself and their victim, Dr Lauren Eames, and her shaken faith in her observational skills. Sweets helps her embrace subjectivity, but how will he cope when Brennan wants to embrace him? One-shot.


Brennan splashed her face with cold water from the basin. She made herself look in the mirror again. The eyes of the woman framed in the pane of glass were wild, an electric blue.

She glared at the self she barely recognised.

"Dr Brennan?" Sweets' voice called from her office door.

"Just a moment."

She wiped her face carefully on the hand towel, trying not to smudge her mascara. No need to feed Sweets' curiosity with physical manifestations of distress. He was the last thing she needed.

"What are you doing here?" Brennan came out from her private ensuite and sat behind her desk.

Sweets straightened from where he had been leaning against the glass frame of her doorway and took a few loping steps into the room. She hated the clinical, measured way he made himself look casual when he attempted to approach any of the team with his unwanted psychological insights.

It fooled no one.

"I'm here to see you." Sweets gave a half-smile and dropped into the guest chair across the desk from her. "I've heard this case has been getting to you."

Brennan set her jaw. "Booth talked to you."

"And Angela...and Hodgins...and Dr Saroyan." Sweets rested his forearms on the table in what was probably supposed to indicate an open and agreeable stance. "Quite a few people are worried about you. Do they have any reason to be?"

His eyes met hers. They were dark with worry, too.

Brennan bit her lip, frustration with her younger friend melting. She flipped open the file on her desk and fished out a photo. She slid it over to him. "What do you see?"

Sweets could feel the pressure of Brennan's gaze on him. This was a make or break moment, where she would either open up or shut down completely.

He looked soberly down at the photograph, then back up to Brennan's expectant gaze.

"She's pretty."

"She looks like _me_."Brennan said, grasping the picture back out of his hands.

Sweets folded his hands gently on the table. "Her hair, and her eyes are like yours. But what about those cheekbones, huh? Her jaw?"

Brennan studied the zygomatic arches and the mandible. All she could see were her own features.

It scared her.

"I..." she tore her eyes away from the photo and back up to Sweets' face. "...it's my own face I see. Not a _similar_ face, but mine." Her eyes brimmed with tears. "That's not right, is it?"

Sweets smiled, and shook his head, sadly. "No, it's not. Lauren Eames looks a bit like you, but she's not your doppelganger."

"Then why can't I see it?" She tossed the photo back into the file. "I hear her voice and it's _my_ voice. Is this a psychotic break?"

"That's not the term _I'd _use, but I think we can agree there's something going on." Sweets leaned forward gently in his chair. "Why don't you tell me about your connection with Lauren?"

"I talk to her." Brennan shrugged, and a tear rolled down her cheek. "I put on the recordings and I ask her questions and she answers."

"And her voice sounds like your voice?" Sweets asked.

"Yes."

Sweets frowned. "What sort of things do you ask her?"

"About her life, her work, why she did the things she did."

"And what does she answer?"

"She told me she has regrets. She missed her chance with her helicopter pilot..."

"Like you missed yours with Booth?" Sweets asked, very softly.

"Yes." Brennan gave a pained smile, tears falling more freely. "I missed my chance."

Sweets handed her a folded tissue from his top pocket. Brennan sniffled a bit, and dried her eyes.

"Should I tell Booth?"

"What do you think he would say if you did?" Sweets prompted.

Brennan sighed. "Booth is a good man. And he's very dedicated to Hannah. He would either turn me down because of his code of decency, or he would turn me down because he really loves her more."

Sweets gave a gentle nod. "But would it make you feel better to honour your feelings and tell him anyway?"

"Perhaps, but it would make it much more difficult to face Hannah in the future." Brennan gave a sideways shrug.

Sweets steepled his fingers on the desk. "That's true."

They were quiet for a moment.

"So, how did you end up talking to Lauren in the first place?" Sweets asked.

It was an expression he'd rarely seen before, but Brennan looked embarrassed. "I couldn't sleep. So I came into the Jeffersonian to work on the case. I felt Lauren would understand my mental processes."

"Because she was lonely too?" Sweets asked.

Brennan faltered. "Yes."

Sweets sighed, and leaned back in his chair. "You know, a case like this, where a professional person, without family, or friends outside of work, disappears with barely a ripple...you know who it reminds me of?"

Brennan raised her eyebrows sarcastically. "Who?"

"Me." Sweets said.

Brennan blinked. "That was not the answer I was expecting."

"Yeah, we _all_ fear disappearing when we die. But think about it." Sweets gave a little shrug. "If_ you_ went missing, Angela and Hodgins would kick up a fuss, with all Hodgins' resources behind them. Cam would be coordinating an army of squinterns to search for you._ Zack_ would probably break out of his facility to mathematically quantify your last movements. Russ would come looking for you; Max would _kill _anyone he suspected."

Brennan smiled.

"That's a lot of loving and capable people in your life who would feel your absence, and who wouldn't rest until they found you, dead or alive – even without counting Agent Booth. Now, how many people do you think would come looking for me?"

"_I _would." Brennan said.

Sweets smiled, and dropped his eyes in a way that made him look suddenly younger.

"And I have it on good authority that Miss Wick would miss the sex."

He chuckled.

They paused for a moment.

"So, you would consider what I saw in the photo and the recordings to be auditory and visual hallucinations." Brennan ventured. "Does that mean you have to report me to the FBI?"

"You're not an FBI agent, and this is not a consult, so, technically, no." Sweets began. "However, I'd really like it if you and I could maybe talk, just like this, a bit more often, at least until everything has settled down."

"I don't really think that's necessary, Sweets." Brennan squirmed.

Sweets raised his eyebrows, and flicked his eyes down to the picture and back up to hers, a subtle challenge. "What do you see there?"

Brennan stared down at the photo, and sighed. "It's still me."

Sweets gave her a little told-you-so smile. "Yeah, I think we should have a few informal sessions, at least until those symptoms go away."

Reluctantly, Brennan nodded.

xxxxxxxxx

Brennan answered her door in her silk kimono and pyjamas.

Sweets hadn't been prepared for that. "Dr Brennan, good evening." He shuffled nervously in the hallway.

"Sweets, what are you doing here?" she pushed open her door far enough that Sweets took it as an invitation and came inside.

"We haven't had a chance to talk...you know...this week." Sweets put his hands in his pockets and leaned against a bookshelf full of books and carvings. "I thought you might be avoiding me."

"I have merely been busy." Brennan asserted, shutting her door.

"C'mon, Dr Brennan, we both know that's not true." He levelled his gaze. She was gritting her teeth, and her mouth was set, micro-expressions grimacing slightly at the edges. Classic kinetics tell for lying.

"You closed the Lauren Eames case. So what's really going on? You still seeing her?"

All of a sudden, Brennan looked frightened.

"Look, Dr Brennan, I'm not going to report you to the FBI, or to the Jeffersonian, okay? If there's something wrong, it can stay between us, and we'll figure out what to do about it together." Sweets took a couple of steps towards her.

She was shaking.

"Dr Brennan?"

"You _promise_? It can be our secret?" Brennan was pale.

"Unless you are a potential danger to yourself or others, confidentiality comes first." Sweets assured her.

Brennan swallowed.

"Micah...he said there's no such thing as objectivity."

Sweets furrowed his eyebrows quizzically. "Who's Micah?"

"The night guard at the Jeffersonian. He attends many of the free lectures and is surprisingly knowledgeable."

"About objectivity." Sweets frowned.

"He says that the brain is incapable of removing itself from the equation, and thus, true objectivity is impossible." Brennan looked at him with pleading eyes.

"And this distresses you."

"My profession, my entire_ personality_ is built around empiricism, Sweets!" Brennan whirled around, arms moving agitatedly. "If objectivity is impossible, my whole life is a lie!"

Sweets took a deep breath, and held it for a moment. When he let it out, he shifted his weight and met her eyes again. "Dr Brennan, you're a very intelligent woman. This dilemma, about the brain's capacity for objectivity, it must have occurred to you before now."

"But I didn't _believe_ it before now! I could always trust my senses! But then Lauren Eames' picture...she changed _back_."

Suddenly, Brennan was crying. Sweets crossed her apartment in two steps and put his arms around her. She clung onto him, arms around his waist, face buried in his jacket as she sobbed.

Gingerly, he petted her back. "Dr Brennan, it's okay. It's a _good_ thing that the photo changed back."

"No, don't you see? For three days, I couldn't trust my own brain to be objective about the most basic of observations. What's to stop my brain from playing tricks on me again in the future? How would I know if that sofa, which I believe to be red, has really been purple this whole time?"

Sweets smiled, and rested the palms of his hands on the corners of Brennan's shoulders, rubbing his thumbs in a soothing circles at the tip of her collarbones. "You never took even _one_ philosophy class in college, did you?"

Brennan's red, tear-stained face clearly displayed that she didn't see the relevance of that question. "No?"

Sweets privately found Brennan's rare moments of confusion very endearing. "I think you might be ready to face something about yourself. It's a bit scary, but you can handle it."

Brennan sniffed. "What is it?"

Sweets' brown eyes were sympathetic, but serious. "Micah is right. True objectivity is impossible. We can aim for it, we can approximate it, like you do at the Jeffersonian, but we humans are imperfect instruments."

"No, Sweets, I can do it! _True_ objectivity._ I_ can do it."

"No, you can't. Although you hold yourself to a rigorous standard, emotions lead your judgements sometimes. There are optical or other sensual illusions that you fall for. You solve a case quicker when you can emotionally understand all the players in it, and you post-rationalise in your personal life just like the rest of us. Deep down, you _know_ all that."

Sweets pulled Brennan back in close to his chest and held her gently while he explained: "Life was difficult for you, growing up. You needed to believe in something good and pure and incorruptible, so you chose to put your faith in science. You took a totalising view because you needed to then. But I don't think you need it anymore."

He looked down at the top of Brennan's head, suddenly very emotional. "You can still love the scientific method, while admitting that the human element in science means we need to question the results."

"Because humans obtained them and humans are subjective." Brennan concluded miserably.

Sweets smiled. "And you can still love _yourself_, and that brilliantly rational brain, while acknowledging that you have feelings, and that you might make mistakes occasionally while dealing with them. It's okay to make mistakes."

"You're saying these things in a tone that suggests that you're making me feel better, but in fact, I feel worse." Brennan said, pulling back to look up into his eyes.

"I know. But this is a huge shift in world view. Growth is never easy." His lips bowed and Brennan had a strange, fleeting thought about kissing them.

"Since science is _also_ prone to subjectivity in its application, I suppose you would say it is no longer reasonable of me to disparage psychology."

"You never_ really_ disliked psychology because it was subjective. You disliked it because it attacks your coping mechanisms." Sweets said.

"I know." Brennan admitted quietly.

"That, and I think you just enjoy making fun of me." Sweets gazed down fondly at Brennan and suddenly realised what he was doing. He dropped her and took an awkward step back, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head.

_You don't flirt with someone when you're nursing them through a psychological breakthrough._

"I feel strangely shy." Brennan said. "Like you've unclothed me."

"No! You've got your kimono." Sweets blustered.

Brennan raised an eyebrow at him. "I was being metaphorical." She took a step towards him, testing a newly-forming theory. Sweets took an unconscious step back and almost collided with the back of the sofa.

"It's natural to feel a bit closer after a revelation like this." Sweets struggled to regain control of the situation. "I feel closer to you."

"You do?"

"Like we shared something important, yeah." Sweets nodded, smiling.

"I find I am feeling anxious about how I will handle these revelations once you are no longer here with me." Brennan admitted. "I have a new-found respect for your profession and wish to be able to call on your expertise."

"Dr Brennan, I never in my wildest dreams imagined I would hear you say that." Sweets boggled.

"In your wildest dreams I praise psychology? Or tell you I'll be anxious without you?" Brennan queried.

Sweets gulped. "Neither. I said '_Never _in my wildest dreams'."

Brennan frowned. "I feel disappointed."

Sweets smiled awkwardly. "I see you've really taken to the 'I feel' statements."

"You gave the 'I feel' exercise to Booth and I once. At the time I thought it was stupid." Brennan shrugged. "Was I doing it wrong?"

"No...no. It's just..." Sweets screwed up his face "You're feeling really vulnerable, and rejected, you know, by Booth, and you're trying to process this huge thing...and I probably shouldn't have hugged you while you were wearing pyjamas to make any of that more complicated."

"Ah. You think you planted the idea of sexual intercourse with you in my head." Brennan nodded sagely.

Sweets looked panicked. "Uh, no, well, I wouldn't have put it quite like that, but yeah. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be inappropriate, or to make you feel inappropriate."

"I can assure you that is not the case. I have thought about having sexual intercourse with you many times before now."

"Wait...what?" Sweets' voice became involuntarily higher.

Brennan laughed. "I find it amusing that men believe they are the only ones to engage in sexual fantasies about their workmates. Are you saying you have never fantasised about me? Or say, Angela?"

Sweets blushed.

"In all seriousness, Sweets, I would like you to spend the night – unless you have commitments to Miss Wick that prevent you from doing so."

"Daisy and I aren't exclusive." Sweets prefaced "but Dr Brennan, I'm not really a one-night-stand kinda guy."

Brennan nodded. "I know. And it's possible, I suppose, that when I wake up tomorrow morning, after further processing tonight's events, I will feel differently, but a one-night-stand is not what I'm proposing."

"You want me to be your...boyfriend?" Sweets boggled again.

"Yes. I want to be the new person you describe, Sweets. I want to be that person with you." She took a step towards him and he almost went to her.

"No, wait. What about Booth? _The love of your life_?" Sweets demanded.

"Booth is the love of my _old_ life. The one that is a lie. And he's with Hannah." Brennan sighed.

"And what if they break up, and Booth is suddenly available, huh? Would you just drop me for him?" Sweets' eyes teared up. "Because I want a woman who'll put our relationship first – and not run off to the Maluku or to old flames."

"You're getting defensive." Brennan observed. "Does that mean you're considering my offer?"

Sweets sighed and covered his face with his hand and groaned. "Do I like you? Yes, I've had a thing for you pretty much since the first day I met you. But I knew I never had any chance because you were _supposed_ to end up with Booth." He looked up at her, pained. "But right _now_ I'm thinking about things like ethics, and rebounds, and how ridiculous it is to contemplate dating someone you don't even call by their first name, and about what happens to me if _you_ get bored, too."

"_Too_? Why would I get bored of you?" Brennan blinked.

"It may have escaped your notice, Dr Brennan, but I've got some issues of my own. Specifically, about abandonment. My bio parents gave me up. The Foster system farmed me out. My parents died while I was young. Daisy walked out on our engagement." He sighed. "It would be completely natural for this to be a transitionary relationship for you, but I don't think my heart could take it."

Brennan walked up to him and took his hands.

"Lance, look at me."

Sweets raised his eyes to meet hers.

"I would never get_ bored_ of you, or leave you on a whim. I _hate_ change. And I owe you so much, I feel...so much for you." Brennan smiled. "If you were lost, I would insist on finding you, remember? Dead or alive."

Sweets' lip trembled.

Brennan leaned up, and pressed her lips to his. The kiss deepened, Sweets' hands finding her waist and the centre of her back,pressing her closer to him. She hooked her fingers through his curls, angling his head downward and standing on tiptoe until Sweets lifted her off her feet.

As they stumbled as one writhing unit into her bedroom, shedding jackets and pyjamas and ties as they went, Brennan caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirror by her dresser. Her cheeks were flushed, an open kimono billowed around her as her young, shirtless lover swept her onto the bed. For a second, Brennan panicked, struggling once again to recognise the woman in the mirror. But she relaxed as Sweets trailed an arc of kisses up her neck.

She knew what was different about that woman.

She was happy.


End file.
